


Kinktober - Witchers and Monsters

by OneofWebs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Crying, Dubious Morality, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Masturbation, Humiliation, Hypnotism, Knotting, Masturbation, Monsters, Other, Possession, Power Play, Public Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Selfcest, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tongues, Werewolves, graveyard, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Witchers fight monsters. Witchers fuck monsters. Sometimes they are even fucked by monsters.For Kinktober; featuring a certain bard.Ch1 - Eskel and a Fiend (noncon, hypnotism)Ch2- Dandelion and Were-Geralt (consensual)Ch3 - Jaskier and a Wraith (noncon, possession)Ch4 - Lambert and a Siren (noncon, siren's song)Ch5 - Geralt and a Doppler (consensual, selfcest)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 147





	1. Eskel and a Fiend

**Author's Note:**

> I COULD NOT find a kinktober list that I liked so I wrote my own. Will be writing witcher characters with monsters for the forseeable future. Won't make all the days, definitely, but I got a few in mind. Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one includes ~mostly~ non-con. could be seen as dub-con if i believed in that. mostly just because there is hypnosis used.

Under the power of that fiend’s gaze, Eskel felt his legs practically give out beneath him. Like he couldn’t have fought back even if he tried—if he wanted to. He let it take over, and it had him dropping his silver sword right to the ground. The contract was a far thought; as long as the fiend left, it didn’t matter what prompted his leaving. Eskel told himself that as the monster came closer to him. Eskel’s body had gone entirely weak, entirely limp. He couldn’t fight back as the fiend was suddenly rolling him to his front.

The fiend grabbed him and yanked him back. Eskel fell almost voluntarily as a jolt went up from his spine straight to his head. This heaviness stole through him, and right beneath it was the urge to do things. Things the fiend couldn’t _tell_ him to do, because the fiend had no words. What the fiend did have was _want_ , and what it wanted, Eskel did. Eskel worked himself onto his knees, arched back with his chest and face in the ground. Though he was still dressed and armored, his ass was up in the air, perfectly on display.

A growl left Eskel shaking. He was practically paralyzed where he was, listening to how the fiend sniffed him. Sized him up. He could see the shadow of its horns against the ground, feel the brush of its fur as it hunched over him. Eskel could hear it breathing, practically hear what it _wanted_ from him. There was that smell, too. Eskel recognized it all at once.

Arousal. It must have been mating season, and this poor fiend couldn’t find one to fuck. It’d found the first thing that it could and used that gaze. Eskel was hypnotized, and he knew it. He couldn’t fight the urge to do what the fiend wanted of him, and what that fiend wanted was for him to stay still.

It nosed down Eskel’s spine until it got to the swell of his ass. Eskel almost felt inclined to show himself off, to want as badly as the fiend did. He pressed his ass back, and the fiend responded with some feral growl. It knew it’d found what it wanted, and with that, it responded immediately. No more patience, no more _waiting_. One swipe was all it took to have Eskel’s trousers ripped to shreds. The cold air hit him first, and then the slobber of the fiend’s tongue as it lapped against him.

Whether it was the spell of something deep inside of Eskel he didn’t want to deal with, something made it feel good. He found himself shuddering, curling his fingers into the dirt as the fiend licked through his cleft. Its tongue was rough, messy, but Eskel found himself moaning against the ground. When that tongue pressed into him, he felt himself spasm. His thighs shook, but when he tried to move, the fiend suddenly lurched forward. Tongue still buried, the fiend slammed one of its massive claws over Eskel’s back.

Its growl was a warning to stay _still_. Don’t move. Present. Eskel did exactly that, pressing himself harder into the dirt so he could arch his back, push his ass back for the fiend. The next noise came straight from its gut, something feral and contented. It fucked its tongue into Eskel, stroking him deep. Saliva dripped down from its opened snout, leaving Eskel feeling wet. Helpless as he found himself working back on that tongue. His head was still heavy, fogged by the fiend’s hypnosis.

All at once, the fiend pulled its tongue back and pushed itself up. The howl it let out was monstrous and followed by a sharp movement so it could crowd over top of Eskel, leave him feeling small for the first time in his life. It kept a claw on him, making sure that he could move as it finally started to rock against him.

Eskel could feel the whole length of its cock grinding between his spread thighs. It was so thick, dripping with the fiend’s arousal. Eskel didn’t know how it was going to _fit_ , what this would do to him. He almost didn’t care. The way the fiend rutted against him was enough to have his own cock painfully hard. He responded to its smell, the way it growled against him. It looked at him like a willing, fertile mate, and fuck if he didn’t present himself like one.

His mind was still bogged down. Eskel couldn’t make any decisions; whatever the fiend wanted, he did. That meant he spread his thighs out wider and arched his back when the fiend moved. It stood over top of him, crouched down low so Eskel still couldn’t escape, even if his mind were his own. It crowded him down, kept him confined as it started to press its cock against his hole. The thick, bulbous head.

Eskel’s jaw fell open as he cried out. Its cock breached him in one hard movement, and it didn’t _stop_. Eskel’s breath caught in his throat. He could hardly scream as it pushed into him, one inch right after the other. It was so thick, breaking right through him. So much of it was wet, slick from the saliva, from something—Eskel didn’t know. All he knew was that he was shaking, groaning as the fiend began to pull back.

One hard thrust broke something from Eskel’s throat. A shout as it fucked into him again. It moved hard enough that Eskel’s entire body rocked against the ground, shoved forward under the fiend’s force. He could feel every inch of that cock inside of him, how _thick_ it was. Each time Eskel was breached, it was like the first time all over. He was so tight around its cock, but that only spurred it on. Above him, the fiend growled, tilting its head back and howling as pleasure coursed through it.

The fiend moved harder, slapping against Eskel’s hips. As it grabbed at him, more of Eskel’s clothes ripped. It was desperate to find a hold, and once it had, it forced Eskel back onto its cock with each hard movement. The _sounds_ that it made each time it pulled back, pushed back through. Obscene, wet, all muted by the sound of Eskel’s moans. He was stretched so wide, forced open only wider with each thrust. Saliva and slick from the fiend’s cock leaked out of Eskel’s hole, dripping down his thighs and wetting what was left of his pants.

When the fiend pulled back entirely, Eskel could feel how open he was. Gaping, leaking, before the fiend fucked right back into him. The force of it punched Eskel’s air right out of his lungs, but he could feel _everything._ How deep the fiend fucked into him, and its cock was _so_ thick that Eskel’s stomach bulged out each time its hips slapped against him.

With what it had done to him, Eskel couldn’t stop the thoughts that struck him. The fiend’s thoughts rushing through his head. Eskel wanted this thing to breed him, to fuck him so hard and deep that it would come inside of him and leave him heavy with seed, heavy with its mutant, monster child. The thought had him moaning, had him pressing back against the force of the fiend’s cock. He could feel it, fucked right up through his stomach and left gasping.

It growled over top of him, suddenly losing its focus, it’s rhythm. It began to fuck into Eskel with such a frantic speed, force, that Eskel clawed through the dirt like he had any strength to get away. If anything, that made the fiend grab Eskel harder. Its claws dug into his skin through his armor, effectively paralyzing Eskel right where he was. It fucked into him only harder, using his body to find its own pleasure, meet its own need. It was growling, let out gruffed snorts and howls.

Eskel clenched down around it, crying out as something began to change. He could feel something starting to swell, something that tugged at his rim as the fiend pulled back and forced its way back in as the fiend slapped their bodies together. It was going to breed him. Part of Eskel knew it was going to hurt, but there was a part of him overwhelmed by the fiend’s hypnosis that _wanted_ its knot, wanted its spend inside of him. Eskel didn’t fight back as it fucked through him.

His body was going numb, lost in this feeling of want. The fiend’s cock filled him so perfectly, left him stuffed and full, and then it only got worse. The pressure—something right up against his prostate as the fiend finally stilled with one hard slap, one that sent Eskel’s face right back into the dirt. The knot swelled, locked itself inside of Eskel, and stretched him open all over again. Eskel dragged his face along the dirt as he cried out, hips bucking involuntarily.

He clenched around the knot inside him, and just as it finally finished, finally reached that thickest point where Eskel was sure he was about to break, the fiend came. And it came. It came, and came, and _filled_ Eskel until he could feel the spend hanging heavy in his belly. The fiend couldn’t pull back, couldn’t move away. It was stuck inside of Eskel, locked at its knot. The pressure that built up was immense, almost too much. Eskel couldn’t tell if he’d came or just gone entirely soft.

Pleasure overwhelmed him, enough that it hurt. He was so full. So stuffed. The fiend’s cock was nestled up inside of him, still moving as the fiend jerked and rolled. Still moving, unable to control itself. It jostled everything inside of Eskel, made everything that much more intense. All he could do was suffer through it, _feel_ it. His body still wasn’t his own, nor his mind. The fiend kept a tight hold on him, making him feel like he wanted it, like he craved more.

Eskel found himself wanting the fiend to carry him back to his nest like it would have its mate and fuck him until it was satisfied. He couldn’t fight the thoughts, only moan as the coursed through him. The fiend was too caught up in itself, still feeling as Eskel’s tight passage spasmed around him, clenched down on its knot.

They each only suffered a moment longer. When the fiend’s knot finally went down, it pulled back. Spend rushed from Eskel’s hole, leaking down his taint and making a puddled mess against the grass. The moment he hit the grass, he felt the fiend lean into him and nudge his thighs apart so it could _smell_ him. It licked him, right over his hole where it could taste what it’d done. Eskel shuddered, and a moment later, he was alone.

As the fiend left, its spell broke. The force of it, the snap it made in Eskel’s mind, ruined him. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his world went dark.

When Eskel woke next, he didn’t know how long he’d been out, just that it was dark, and he was alone. His clothes were ripped to shreds and spend was still leaking out of his ass. When he moved, a rush of it came. Involuntarily, he shuddered. Eskel was _covered_ in thick, white fluid, as if the fiend had come back and used his lifeless body. The very thought had Eskel shuddering again, but he was quick to shake his head. The hypnotism was still wearing off. It had to be.

He had to gather himself up and collect something to prove the contract was done. The fiend certainly wouldn’t be bothering anyone anymore, not now that it’d gotten what it wanted. It left its own mark. Eskel was sure he had new scars from this. At least, he’d be able to spin a tale that he hadn’t just let this all happen. He hadn’t, had he? That thing had made him want it. Turned him into a sniveling replacement of a female fiend instead of bothering its own kind.

Eskel barely had the strength to stand. When he did, more spend leaked down his thighs. He was a mess. What he desperately needed now was a dip in a lake to clean this off of him. What he needed after was enough white gull that he could forget the way he was still shuddering, still feeling _good_. When he started to walk, Eskel could feel the mess in the front of his trousers. That fiend had gotten him off, and that was the worst of it.


	2. Dandelion and his Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the nature of his school, Geralt transforms under a full moon. Dandelion gives himself over completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~completely consensual~ the non-con tags do not apply to this installment. perfectly safe!
> 
> This was based off a lovely animation done by [@SFM_Obsession](https://twitter.com/SFM_Obsession)! You can check out a preview of said animation right [here](https://twitter.com/SFM_Obsession/status/1311718848928731137). He's super talented, so I'd definitely recommend checking out his stuff. And a big thanks for letting me write this!

At the sight of Geralt down on all fours, now a growling, snarling monster, Dandelion’s breath caught in his throat. This had never been a secret between them; they weren’t Wolves for nothing. Dandelion had always known about this affliction—something to do with the mutagens. Geralt had explained it once. Dandelion had never thought much of it. There was no reason to think about it, not until Geralt asked this of him.

A graveyard set their stage, and Dandelion had only had to bring himself. The finest and only prop, because all Geralt wanted was him. As long as he had an open mind, then this would work. Dandelion had a _very_ open mind. It had nothing to do with the fact that Geralt was a monstrous thing, glowing yellow eyes and drool dripping from his muzzle. Rather, it had everything to do with the fact that it was still Geralt, and Dandelion would do anything for him. This was nothing different.

When Dandelion took that first step forward, Geralt’s gaze jolted towards him. The rough panting, the growls, were nearly enough that Dandelion stopped. Still, he took another step. All he had to do was remind himself that this was Geralt. Geralt asked for this. Dandelion agreed. If he wanted it to stop, all he had to do was say it. Something was burning low in his stomach that said he wanted this to keep going. He’d prepared for it; a nice bath filled with oils and salts. Dandelion shuddered at the thought and took another step.

“Geralt, my dear,” Dandelion spoke softly. “I’m not leaving you. What we talked about—I want that. Just like you described. Just—a bit more careful than that. I wore something nice for you.”

A sudden huff broke from Geralt’s throat, and he dashed forward. Truly a monster, sentient enough that, when he grabbed Dandelion, it didn’t hurt. Just enough of a feral need inside him, though, that Geralt couldn’t stop himself from ripping Dandelion’s clothes right off of him. He was a monstrous white wolf with big, thick claws. Sharp enough that Dandelion’s clothes tore right off. Delicate enough that, when his trousers were pulled away, Geralt didn’t disturb what was beneath.

Dandelion breathed, tried to keep himself composed. Geralt had thrown him right to the ground, laying now on his back with his legs spread open and everything out on display. With the way Geralt was looking at him, he didn’t have the time to feel ashamed of the dainty, sheer stockings he wore or the matching set of panties. Geralt looked at him like he was meat, something to be devoured right here, right now, and Dandelion wanted it. He even moaned.

Geralt leaned down against him, nudging the length of his snout into Dandelion’s neck. Dandelion tilted, gave access, and shook when Geralt lapped at his skin. It was so _wet_ , and Geralt’s breath was strikingly warm against him. Dandelion closed his eyes, rolling his hips up to nothing. Geralt was hovering over top of him, braced on his claws and his feet. When he pulled away, Geralt used one of those massive claws to grab Dandelion again and flip him right over like he weighed nothing.

The jolt of it went straight to Dandelion’s cock, hardening in his pretty panties. He was pressed face down into the dirt, Geralt’s entire weight keeping him there. Up on his knees, Geralt’s claw on his shoulders, Dandelion was helpless. He couldn’t get away, nor did he want to.

“Geralt—” Dandelion gasped. “ _Please_. I’m yours,” he assured. “At your mercy—”

Geralt growled in response, something low and deep. Whatever was holding him back snapped at Dandelion’s words. He kept Dandelion face down in the dirt while he moved, reaching down with his _teeth_ against Dandelion’s skin to rip his panties right off of him. They were thrown to the side with the rest of his ruined clothes. Dandelion looked out there at the reminder of how powerful Geralt was. He could rip clothes off like that, even as a man. But like this, a werewolf twice Dandelion’s size with ten times the strength—Dandelion knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. It excited him.

His cock was already straining, achingly hard between his thighs as Geralt’s tongue worked between his cheeks. Geralt huffed against him, breath hard and heavy. He lapped through Dandelion’s cheeks, tasting him, leaving him dripping in saliva. Every swipe had Dandelion moaning against the dirt, pleasure coursing through him. He could feel how wet it was, so much extra spit. Dandelion couldn’t keep himself still; he shook and dragged his fingers through the dirt.

In response, Geralt pressed him down harder. A growl broke out of his throat, one that stilled Dandelion. The sound of a monster who would not be denied. Dandelion was his prey. He was going to stay right like he was, ass up in the air and face in the dirt, and not make a fuss. Not until Geralt was finished with him. But they had all night.

That didn’t stop Geralt from pressing against him, a sudden urgency. His tongue flexed, folded, and worked right into Dandelion. Dandelion gasped out, lurching forward with the sudden breach. Geralt grabbed him by his hips, growling out another warning. Try as he might, Dandelion couldn’t control himself. He ended by pressing himself into the dirt, arching his back out and leaning back against Geralt’s tongue. It worked into him, slowing but surely urging him open.

Dandelion tried to look back, tried to watch as Geralt licked into him. With the way Geralt held him, he was immobilized, entirely at Geralt’s mercy. All he could do was feel as Geralt’s tongue fucked into him, working as deep as he could manage. He left Dandelion wet and wanting, a sudden gasp as Geralt pulled away.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Dandelion groaned. “Don’t—don’t leave me like this.”

Geralt’s only response was a low growl. Something about this took his voice, and something about that left Dandelion shuddering against the ground. He shifted, pressing himself into the dirt so he could get his arm beneath himself. He reached for his own cock, desperate for something. All he managed was to get his hand wrapped around the base for Geralt snapped at him, a low growl that had Dandelion’s cock twitching and leaking.

Geralt crowded over top of him, crouched down just low enough that, when he shifted forward, Dandelion could feel the head of his cock. That hadn’t been there a moment ago, and it _felt_ different. Dandelion had gotten down on his knees for Geralt on enough occasions that he knew the shape of Geralt’s cock, and this was different. Thicker, bigger. He didn’t force too hard, too fast. At first, Geralt just rolled his hips and let Dandelion feel him through his cleft.

The whole length of his cock was already wet, and it left Dandelion wet as Geralt rocked his hips. Dandelion pushed himself up onto his hands, unwilling to chance touching himself again. He just braced himself, a shuddering breath, and arched back so Geralt would know how much he wanted this. The size of Geralt’s cock didn’t faze him, just the fact that it wasn’t inside of him yet.

With just the right tilt of his hips, Geralt was suddenly catching on the rim of Dandelion’s hole. All it took was one good thrust to have the head of Geralt’s cock breaching through, and Dandelion cried out. He dropped down to his elbows, panting at the sudden stretch. But he took it. He took it, and he kept taking it as Geralt eased into him. Slowly. Dandelion stretched wider as Geralt sunk into him. His cock only got thicker. There wasn’t an inch of it that Dandelion wasn’t prepared to take, and Geralt didn’t disappoint him.

A groan broke from Dandelion’s throat as he felt Geralt’s heavy balls press against his backside. All he wanted now was to see Geralt’s cock, know what he’d taken inside of him. Geralt leaned down over the top of him, nudging his head against Dandelion’s in subtle encouragement. This was just the beginning, and Geralt didn’t seem to know how to play the monster. He was simply holding, waiting for that perfect moment.

“Please, Geralt,” Dandelion managed out, voice half-choked. “Fuck me. Can’t—can’t wait any longer.”

Geralt pulled back immediately, until his cock had slipped right from Dandelion’s body. All he got in return was a strangled cry. That wasn’t what Dandelion wanted—but his complaint died on his tongue as Geralt pushed into him again. This time, he moved just the smallest bit faster, breaching Dandelion all over again. He pushed into Dandelion until they were flush against one another, and then pulled entirely back. Dandelion felt the slip of his cock and groaned again.

It happened again, only faster. Geralt pushed into him, working Dandelion open on the length of his cock. Dandelion took it beautifully, stretching and opening and groaning. He could feel Geralt’s cock all the way into his stomach, the bulge that came when Geralt’s hips were pressed flush against him. Geralt pulled again, then pushed right back into Dandelion. Just slow enough that Dandelion could still count the inches of his cock as they disappeared, but fast enough that his breath was punched right out of his lungs.

Once the resistance was gone, once Dandelion was so perfectly open for him, Geralt found a rhythm. He lurched forward, fucking straight into Dandelion hard enough to jolt Dandelion beneath him, make him cry out. When he pulled back, he pulled back far enough that his cock popped free and Dandelion had a chance to breathe before Geralt stole his next breath. Another rough fuck forward, making Dandelion take every inch of it again and again.

Dandelion cried out, trying desperately to work back into Geralt. It was almost impossible to find the strength to move, not as Geralt fucked into him. Geralt was hunched over him entirely, enough that their heads could bump together. Dandelion heard the deep growl in Geralt’s throat, so taken with how tight Dandelion was around him. Dandelion couldn’t help the laugh from his throat.

“Such a puppy,” Dandelion crooned, and Geralt knocked against him again. In the next second, Geralt’s cock shoved back inside of him.

The laugh broke off in favor of Dandelion’s groan. Geralt’s cock left him feeling heavy, _used_. He swore his stomach bulged each time Geralt’s slapped against him. The feeling of those heavy balls slapping against his backside had Dandelion lost, crying out only louder as Geralt’s pace increased. Every fuck of that cock worked right over his prostate and left Dandelion shaking. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to hold himself up, but he tried. Struggled still to fuck himself back onto that thickness. He wanted it so desperately he couldn’t stop himself from moving.

Pleasure was building. Warmth spread through Dandelion, left his cock twitching and his jaw dropped open with quiet, pleading noises. Geralt continued against him, fucking into him with full force. Each time Dandelion suffered the loss of that cock, Geralt worked it right back into him. Breached him open again, fully, working through him all the way to his stomach. He was losing himself to it, working Dandelion steadily, faster and faster.

Geralt groaned all at once, a loud noise right in Dandelion’s ear. He surged then, pushing back and clapping his large claw on Dandelion’s back all at once. With how weak Dandelion already felt, it sent him right to the ground. His back arched, ass pressed back, and Geralt turned feral. He growled against Dandelion, fucking into him wildly. He worked deep this time, keeping Dandelion open around the weight of his cock.

All Dandelion could do was groan, rolling his head and pressing back against Geralt. _This_ was the real monster, the one that Dandelion had counted on. It went straight to his cock; Dandelion knew he was about to come. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself, not with the power Geralt had over him right now. Dandelion had never felt more helpless, more used, and the feelings just kept growing. Cresting with this intense warmth that flooded through him as Geralt fucked into him only harder.

Their bodies slapped together, Geralt’s heavy balls against his ass. Everything about Geralt was big, like this—heavy, _massive_. Dandelion couldn’t stop the noises from his throat, couldn’t keep himself from grinding back on Geralt’s cock. He’d never felt so open—he craved more of it. Wanted to keep this feeling with him forever, somehow.

“Breed me,” Dandelion gasped. “Come for me. I know you’re close, Geralt— _please._ ”

Geralt’s only response was a heady growl and a harder, rougher slap of his hips. Dandelion yelped, jolting to dig his fingers through the dirt. Geralt had that one claw on his back, keeping him pinned to the ground, and the other was wrapped around his hips to keep him moving when his strength finally left him. Geralt slapped their bodies together, fucking into him harder. He was losing his rhythm, losing _himself_.

“Come on, Geralt,” Dandelion urged again. “Want you to come in me. Fill me—breed me, Geralt. Make me yours—” He broke off into a long moan as Geralt suddenly stuttered against him, thrusts hard enough that they stung.

In the next instant, Dandelion felt that swell inside of him. Geralt was pressed so close to him, holding Dandelion against him, and his cock began to expand. Right at the end, as he finally came, his knot caught on Dandelion’s rim and locked them together. When he came, Geralt made good on Dandelion’s desire. There was so much of it. So much spend inside of him Dandelion couldn’t contain himself. He groaned against the ground, spreading his thighs out like he could somehow get _closer_.

Geralt understood what Dandelion wanted, and he gave it to him. He rocked against Dandelion, working him on his knot until Dandelion practically had tears worked up in his eyes. Geralt leaned over him, panting right next to his ear. He took a moment, stilling. Once his knot had finally gone down, Geralt pulled out of Dandelion.

The rush of spend from him was enough that Geralt let out some deep growl. His cock hung useless after that, and when he leaned over Dandelion once more, it brushed against him. Dandelion raised up to meet him, and Geralt brushed his snout into Dandelion’s cheek before licking the side of his face.

“Okay, okay—” Dandelion’s laugh was breathless and exhausted.

Geralt licked him again, and Dandelion reached out to cup the side of his wolf head. He kissed Geralt’s furry cheek before he leaned back and just gave up. Dandelion let himself rest down against the ground, and Geralt practically enveloped him away from the world. A living, breathing blanket that was happily content to keep Dandelion warm until his transformation broke. Then, they could find the clothes they’d packed and go home.


	3. Jaskier and a Wraith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is possessed by a wraith who has fun using Jaskier's body for its own personal desires. Geralt saves him, but Jaskier can't help but wonder if Geralt was the one who set it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more non-con. Jaskier definitely doesn't want it but he's into it.

At Geralt’s order, Jaskier was supposed to be lying low. There was a wraith in this graveyard, and Geralt was going to attempt to lure it out, slay it, and make some cash on their way to Novigrad. Geralt was off doing just that, his job, and Jaskier had tagged along in some attempts to get a story out of it. While Jaskier had followed Geralt into some terrifying places before, this was its own level of terrifying. It was the dead of night, in the middle of a graveyard, and Jaskier was alone.

Worse, he was alone with the knowledge that there was a _wraith_ somewhere around. Not just any wraith, either, but one that apparently was more mischievous than it was cruel. Contrary to popular belief, that didn’t bode well for Geralt. Maybe the wraith itself was still just as dangerous, but it wasn’t looking around for a fight. It was looking to have fun, and there was only so much fun Geralt could provide, especially if he came waltzing up with bait and a silver sword.

Whatever bait Geralt was laying out wasn’t working, and that was the absolute worst outcome—when the wraith appeared right in front of Jaskier and nearly had him screaming. This wasn’t just some low wraith, either. This was what people thought of when they saw ghosts. Something sentient enough that it laughed when it saw the terror on Jaskier’s face, but Jaskier didn’t have the time to scream. It all happened so fast. Mere seconds passed between Jaskier seeing this wraith, this ghost, and the wraith rushing right into his body.

_Haven_ _’t seen someone so cute in a while_ , the wraith said.

“What— What are you doing?” Jaskier barked. He heard his own voice, but the wraith’s voice bounced about his head. Realized too late, the wraith had possessed him, yet somehow had let him keep his voice.

_Taking you for a ride. What_ _’s it look like?_

Jaskier didn’t know what it looked like, but when his arms began to move against his will, what was happening quickly became apparent. His hands went for his doublet, working it open before jolting down over the laces of his trousers. Jaskier couldn’t even struggle. The wraith had control over him, and it worked quickly. Once it had Jaskier’s trousers open, it shoved Jaskier’s hands right down the front of his smalls and grabbed at his soft cock. It was Jaskier who groaned, head rolling back against a tombstone.

_Fuck_! The wraith cried right through his skull. _Been long enough since I had a good rub off. Knew you_ _’d be the one to get it out of._

Jaskier shuddered. “Stop,” he whimpered. “I don’t—”

_Want this?_ The wraith laughed. _We both know that_ _’s not true. I can feel it. How’s your friend feel knowing you get off on shit like this?_

Jaskier tried to shake his head, but his head wouldn’t move. The wraith had him entirely, save for his voice. It wanted to hear the way that he groaned when it began to jerk his cock. To the outside, it looked like Jaskier was having an inappropriate wank in a graveyard, but he could not make his hand stop. The wraith forced him to stroke himself until his cock began to react, quivering straight to life. Jaskier felt the way he hardened in his own hand, and he couldn’t stop the moan from his throat.

Once his cock was properly hard, the wraith pulled Jaskier’s hands away and made him shift again. Jaskier closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch as the wraith pushed his trousers down to his knees. His smalls followed, and Jaskier nearly sobbed as he was sat back down in the grass. He could _feel_ it prickling against him. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something outside, but he was usually a willing participant. Here, he didn’t have control over his own body.

When the wraith shoved Jaskier’s fingers into his own mouth, he couldn’t stop it. All Jaskier could do was spasm and shake as his free hand grabbed at his cock again. Jaskier jolted with pleasure as his own body worked against him. He hated how it felt good, how his cock pulsed in his hold and started to leak from the tip. He was still sucking on his own fingers, the wraith playing with his tongue. Only no one else would know it was a wraith but Jaskier. Nobody could _see_ it was a possession that made him squeeze his tongue between his fingers, stroke it until his fingers were dripping with saliva.

Jaskier whimpered as the fingers pulled out of his mouth. A string of saliva broke as Jaskier’s hand moved down, down—down far enough that Jaskier began to tremble. He knew what the wraith was doing, and he didn’t want this. He was supposed to be _safe_ from this thing, and Geralt was supposed to kill it.

_You_ _’re cute when you’re scared_ , said the Wraith. _You don_ _’t want this? Bet you do. Bet you curl up in your bed at night with your fingers stuffed inside yourself thinking about that stupid Witcher._

Jaskier breathed hard through his nose as his own fingers pressed against his hole. He didn’t want to admit it, but the wraith was right, like it was rooting around in his head and picking things out. None of it mattered, because Jaskier couldn’t stop it from happening. He could have called for Geralt, but the thought of Geralt _seeing_ him like this—Jaskier sobbed as his finger pressed into him. The slide was so easy, and he heard the wraith groan in his head.

_So easy,_ it said. _All clean, too? How often do you bend over for a nice, thick cock, Jaskier?_

Jaskier shuddered. More than he wanted to admit, so he kept his mouth shut as best he could. He couldn’t stop the moans that broke through his bitten lips as his finger worked in deeper. The wraith moved him, slid him down against the tombstone and canting his hips. Jaskier’s knees spread out like he was putting on a show, and the thought made him shudder. Was someone watching him? He swore he heard a twig snap somewhere, but his mind was playing tricks on him. It wasn’t his own, anymore.

As his finger worked deeper, Jaskier tilted his head to the side and keened. His eyes were closed tight, and his jaw was dropped open. Jaskier was drooling over his chemise, but he couldn’t stop himself. Just because he could talk didn’t mean he had great control over his head. Like the rest of him, the wraith did with it what he pleased. It was only by some grace Jaskier was allowed to close his eyes. He was sure they would bulge out otherwise, as intense as the pleasure was.

His second finger was worked into him, still wet with saliva. Jaskier didn’t exactly carry oil around with him, and if he did, he scarcely believed the wraith would care. The wraith was having too much fun with him, fucking him with his own fingers and stroking his cock raw. Jaskier was too sensitive. This was where he would stop, give himself a break before he continued, but the wraith pushed through his sensitivity until Jaskier was moaning.

“Stop, _please_ ,” Jaskier cried. “It’s—too much.”

_Yeah? Gonna come on your fingers like a dirty little whore? What if that Witcher saw you like this?_

Jaskier’s hips bucked on their own, nothing from him or the wraith. The rush of shame turned Jaskier red, and it only pleased the wraith. The thought of Geralt hiding somewhere and watching this pleased Jaskier to no end. It was humiliating to think someone would see him like this, but it if it didn’t make his cock swell that last bit, _drip_ precum down his shaft, Jaskier would be lying to himself. He was trying to be anywhere but himself as his fingers crooked inside of him.

The wraith knew just where to touch him, and Jaskier’s own fingers worked over his prostate mercilessly. Along with the way the wraith forced strokes over his cock, Jaskier found himself shuddering, hips jerking. He rolled his head back against the tombstone and slouched down farther, the wraith’s own movements so Jaskier would present himself further.

All at once, the wraith pulled Jaskier’s hand away from his cock, and Jaskier whimpered at the loss. Just his fingers now, and Jaskier rocked his hips down against them as they moved. It felt like someone else was working him open, and at that thought, maybe Jaskier even liked it. He tried not to, knowing it was his own fingers forced up inside of him, but he couldn’t stop the way that he trembled. His cock was still hard, but now that his hand was gone, his impending orgasm felt so much farther away.

_Never come just like this, have you? Poor boy_ , mocked the wraith. _Don_ _’t worry. Get you off and ruin you. Never be able to fuck a woman again._

Jaskier shuddered. He hated every moment of this, but he couldn’t make it stop. The wraith was suddenly shoving his fingers, still wet with precum, right into his mouth. Jaskier sucked on them because the wraith made him suck, but the moan was his own. He could taste himself on his fingers. While he was occupied with that, the wraith pulled his other hand back, fingers slipping free of his tight passage. Jaskier shuddered at the loss.

Then, Jaskier’s head was moved. His fingers stayed in his mouth, playing over his tongue and the tips of his teeth, but the wraith needed his _eyes_. He reached for Jaskier’s bag, the one that he’d brought but taken off his shoulders at the point Geralt told him to sit still and hide. The wraith reached inside and began to rummage.

_Know someone like you carries shit around. Need a proper cock in you, but not about to go find that Witcher. Ruin my fun._

Jaskier shuddered. The wraith continued to play in his mouth, tugging down over his teeth and making his jaw open. The drool happened on its own, and it left Jaskier feeling more ashamed than he’d been before. Just the fact that the wraith had thought about finding Geralt, making Geralt see him like this, had Jaskier flushed red. He only flushed worse as the wraith found he was looking for. Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around a familiar shape—a glass plug he’d forgotten to leave at home.

_Knew it,_ the wraith cheered. _Fucking whore. What are you doing outside of a brothel? You come all this way just so I could have you?_

With the fingers in his mouth, Jaskier couldn’t respond. His response was a tremble, and he could practically feel the wraith’s own pleasure. It wasn’t fair. He wanted it to stop, but the fingers in his mouth kept him quiet aside from the moans as the glass plug was pressed against him. Jaskier whined out hard—he didn’t want this, but the wraith didn’t care what he wanted. The wraith pressed the plug against him until it was slipping inside, and Jaskier felt tears welling up in his eyes.

It stung. He wasn’t open enough for it, not wet enough, but the wraith didn’t care. It pressed that plug right inside of him, and Jaskier’s body convulsed around it. His cock throbbed, leaking against his stomach now. Jaskier couldn’t control the way he felt. Pleasure coursed right through him. Shame from the fact that he _did_ feel good. His body had no right to be so warm, to act so wantonly against his will. Jaskier was rutting down against the plug as the wraith pressed it inside of him.

_Just like that_ , the wraith practically cooed. _Like something thick inside you. Think about riding that Witcher_ _’s cock. What would you think if he were watching you like this?_

The way Jaskier shuddered; he was so ashamed of himself. If Geralt was watching this, he swore that he might come. Jaskier’s hips bucked, and he groaned. He was going to lose himself right like that, at the thought of Geralt watching him. Maybe Geralt would be the one to know this wasn’t him. Jaskier wasn’t jerking off in a graveyard; he was being forced. The wraith moved his hand, both of them at once. Jaskier sucked his own fingers into his mouth, nearly gagging on them as the wraith fucked him with the plug.

Whimpers broke from Jaskier’s throat. He spasmed around the plug, groaning as it fucked against his prostate. He could feel that warmth spreading out through his pelvis, but the sudden sound of something moving caught his attention. It caught the wraith’s attention, because suddenly Jaskier had control over himself. His hand fell out of his mouth as he curled up against the tombstone, hugging around his chest like it would somehow protect him from _that_.

The plug jostled inside of him, and Jaskier was more focused on that than he was what was happening. It had been Geralt. And now, Geralt was fighting that wraith. He’d blown it right from Jaskier’s body, threw Yrden on the ground, and plunged his sword right through it.

Unfortunately, it didn’t matter that the wraith was gone. The damage had been done, and Jaskier was shaking where he sat as Geralt approached. The plug was still inside of him, and his cock was still achingly hard. He didn’t think he’d be able to get up. Not without a long, long time to just sit here and wallow. Tears started to fall as Geralt touched him, such a gentle hand to brush his hair back out of his face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt started, but Jaskier just shook his head. Geralt swallowed, then decided to continue. “Won’t tell anyone,” he promised.

“You saw,” Jaskier accused, but there was no bite in his voice. Just a wistful sort of sound that was only masked by the press of tears.

Geralt confirmed with a nod.

That just had Jaskier shuddering all over again. “Please,” he whispered, and Geralt came closer.

One hand stayed in his hair, a comforting and grounding touch, while the other went beneath his curled-up thighs. As Geralt touched the plug, Jaskier jolted. _This_ was something he didn’t want to stop. Geralt worked the plug into him in slow, shallow little thrusts that left Jaskier whimpering. The pleasure just flowed through him, renewed and hot. Geralt was right up against him, breath right against his ear.

“Touch yourself,” Geralt whispered, and Jaskier practically convulsed.

He scrambled to do as he was told, wrapping his wet fingers around his cock and stroking. Two strokes, along with the sudden hard press of the plug inside of him, and Jaskier was coming entirely undone. He cried out as the pleasure overwhelmed him, cock spurting. When Jaskier came down from his high, he was panting and still crying. He felt like a fool but having Geralt do this to him was better than he could have imagined.

“Better?”

Jaskier nodded. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t be. Best thing I ever watched.”

Something about that struck strangely, like Geralt hadn’t just seen the end bit, but had watched the whole thing. Like maybe he’d even been a part of it. Jaskier didn’t have time to consider that thought further as Geralt pulled the plug out of him. They had more important things to worry about than how they’d ended up here. The contract was done, and all Jaskier wanted was a bath.


	4. Lambert and a Siren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-con magicy stuff again i may enjoy hypnotization but whatever

Lambert heard that song, and he couldn’t resist the call of it. A siren’s song was something they’d all been warned about as children. Even to a Witcher, the right kind of siren could sing the right kind of song to leave them just as stupid and helpless as any weak sailing man, and this was one of those songs. Lambert still had the strength in his bones to _leave_ , but he didn’t. He followed it, instead, trudging through the shin deep water as he walked into the cave.

This was a lone siren. Someone who shouldn’t have been dangerous, but she must have been. Strong, old even. Her song was enough to entice Lambert into her cave where he saw her sitting pretty atop of a rock. The cave was mostly water, but that rock right out in the middle of it was the perfect place for her to display herself. She had lovely, clear skin and long orange hair that hung straight down to the start of her tail. Her tail was a deep, hypnotizing red.

She sung for him, looking over at him with piercing, monstrous eyes. He could see her teeth; she was already prepared to shift into a monster, and still, Lambert walked for her. When she sang for him to, he left his weapons on a piece of dry ground. At her beck and call, Lambert began to undress. Beside his weapons he left his armor, his boots, and the rest of his clothes. Once he was down to his smalls, she called that he would come closer.

And he did. Lambert walked into the water, his eyes trained on the siren. She was strikingly beautiful, a voice unlike anything he’d ever heard before. Maybe outside of the cave he’d still be able to walk away, but now, he was trapped. He was _hers_ , and by the smirk on her face, she knew it. Was proud of it, even, that she had enticed a Witcher into her home. She knew him by his eyes and the medallion he still wore around his neck. She would have never wanted him to take that off.

“Such a pretty Witcher,” she cooed, spreading her wings out for him. He watched, breath caught up in his throat. He reacted involuntarily, _aroused_ at the sight of her.

Water splashed as she slipped down into it. For a moment, she disappeared into the water to swim closer. Lambert shuddered when he felt her hands on him. She practically climbed him, using her arms to pull herself up out of the water so they could meet at eye-level. Her hips ground against him, and like it was instinct alone pushing him, Lambert gripped at her hips.

“Heard Witchers have cocks like nothing else in this world,” she whispered. “Want to see it for myself.”

He could feel her scales spreading where they rubbed against his stomach. As she let herself back down, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his smalls and pulled them down with her. The sight of his cock had her moaning, still soft but already sizable between his thighs. She reached for it, hands wet against his skin. Lambert’s hips bucked forward into her touch. This wasn’t something he could resist, not with her song still thrumming through his skull.

“Have you bring your friends next time,” she said. “Keep you all in here for me. Personal attendants. I’ll be the only siren in the sea with a collection of Witchers.”

She shuddered at the thought, dragging her hands down Lambert’s hips and his thighs. She pushed herself up to level with his cock, then sunk down right around it. Immediately, Lambert groaned. His hips bucked, and his cock began to harden in her mouth. She was so wet—everything about her from her skin to the feel of her tongue. Lambert let her touch him, let her hands wind up around his hips and to his ass where she squeezed his cheeks and pulled him open just to pull him closer.

Even without her voice her song still rang through Lambert’s bones. His own mind screamed for this to stop—he needed his sword. Slay her, take her head back for his coin, and never think of this again. But he couldn’t move. He was trapped by her, the feeling of her lips around his cock. She sucked on him, lapping over his shaft with her impossibly long, wet tongue until Lambert had fully hardened. Only then did she pull back, blowing cold air right at the tip.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Yes, yes,” she crooned. “We will. Have to know what it _feels_ like to have this inside of me. You’re going to be so good for me, little Witcher.”

Lambert swallowed around a whimper. He couldn’t stop any of it. When she pulled him deeper into the water, he followed. She pulled him until he had to tread water; there was no way he’d be able to hold his breath, and she didn’t force it. She just needed him in the water, and there he was.

Her long, scaled tail wrapped around his legs to help support him, but also effectively paralyze him. She was so strong, too strong for Lambert to have wormed his way out, even if he could have. He was still trapped inside of her song, which meant she could do anything to him.

Her scales spread open to reveal a long, glistening slit of sensitive skin behind. Lambert couldn’t stop himself from grinding his cock against it. She was so slick, so _open_. The way that she shivered against him made him groan. Nestled right at the top of her slit was her hole, and Lambert’s cock head caught on it each time his hips rolled. When she shifted, canting her hips just right, Lambert slipped right into her. So easy, so _open_. Her groan was nothing short of its own song, and the sound had his cock throbbing inside of her.

“So _big_ ,” she moaned, her hips rutting against his. “Oh, my Witcher. My pretty little Witcher—”

Lambert leaned against her, and she supported his weight. His hips moved, and so did hers. They rutted together, each groaning as the pleasure took them. She was so loose around him, but he found that he didn’t care. She was so _wet_ , and her walls spasmed as he fucked into her. Her arms wrapped around him, going back to his ass. Her sharp nails dug into his skin, but he didn’t care. If anything, the pain spurred him on. He fucked his hips forward, burying himself deeper and deeper into her with each thrust.

Something started to expand from the bottom of her slit, and Lambert could feel it working through the crease of his balls. It made his hips stutter and his breath catch in his throat. She squeezed her tail around his legs, _forcing_ him to close his thighs around it.

“You like that, don’t you?” She hummed. “If you were a pretty male siren, that would fuck right into you and hold you here. Keep you still while I fucked myself on your cock.”

Lambert trembled. He didn’t know what it was, just that it felt thick and swollen between his legs. Not quite the size of a cock; instead, it was smaller, wetter. Still just as long as, each time their hips slapped together, he felt it grind against his perineum and out the back of his thighs.

“Don’t worry, my pretty little thing, I can still keep you. Make you my pet Witcher. Wouldn’t you like that?’

_No_. Lambert didn’t want that. He wanted to be let go and to forget about this entire encounter, but a moan came from his throat instead. His head tilted back, and Lambert cried out as she squeezed down around his cock. Her lips hit his neck, and then she was kissing his skin, dragging her teeth over the expanse before her. They were sharp, prickling. Lambert couldn’t even brace himself, his body too weak to do anything of his own accord.

When she bit him, Lambert _moaned_ instead of shouting. It hurt; the pain flooded right through him, but it was like she was forcing him to react pleasurably. Like he wanted to be hurt, to be used. His hips bucked into her, burying his cock with their hips slotted together. Still clamped down on his neck, she started to move them again. Rolling together, rutting faster. The water sloshed and splashed around them. It eased the path of his cock even more so than the slick inside of her.

It was so wet, just as messy as Lambert liked it with a person. A _person_. Never in his life did he think he’d be like this, wrapped up in a siren’s tail and then her wings, of all things, letting her use his body. She ground herself against him, moaning through the bite on his neck. The faster she moved, the more intense it was. The pleasure thrummed right through Lambert, too. Unable to stop himself, Lambert groaned and continued to fuck into her.

When she finally pulled off from his neck, the relief was immense. Lambert’s cock twitched inside of her. She clenched her nails into him, moaning out. She tilted her head back, and at the command of that song, Lambert leaned in to lick the length of her neck.

“Yes, yes—” she gasped, rolling her hips, squeezing her tail around his legs. He could still feel that almost-cock between his thighs, grinding against the underside of his balls. His orgasm was mounting quickly, and he was sure hers was too.

Just from the way he moved, he knew she was losing her mind with this. The way his cock fit inside of her was just perfect, left her moaning for more. And she took more. Whatever she wanted, she took from him. She took and she took, and she took until her passage was spasming around him. She cried out, back arching. She pressed those perky tits of hers against his chest, and only then did she even _think_ to force Lambert to grab them.

He finished her off just like that, hands around her tits and squeezing her fake nipples. She moaned through her orgasm, shaking and trembling as Lambert followed her. He came inside of her, their hips pressed flush together so he was as deep inside of her as he could be. She felt the rush of spend and moaned for it, hips grinding forward.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , my perfect little Witcher.” Her head tilted back, and Lambert continued to kiss at her wet skin. He squeezed her tits in his hands, thumbs over her nipples.

It was like his orgasm wouldn’t stop. He came, and he came, body jolting through the pleasure of it. She as so warm, so wet around him. When he finally did stop shaking, he was just overwhelmed from the sensitivity of it. Only some miracle finally prompted her to let him go.

She pushed him away, pulling back. His cock slipped out of her, and her _something_ slipped from between his thighs. He found himself missing his touch the moment she was gone. By the glint in her eye, he knew that was just as she intended.

“You’ll dress, then leave the cave,” she said. “The spell will break once you’re out there, and you’ll forget you ever found me here. But you’ll want me.”

Lambert trembled. He could feel the orders taking hold. This was a siren too strong for him, and he couldn’t fight her magic.

“Won’t be able to fuck anyone without thinking of me. You’ll come back to find me, so desperate to have your cock inside me it’ll overwhelm you. Might even _die_ if you can’t have me again.”

Lambert shook his head, groaning. No, _no_. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want _that_. She was practically cursing him, and the only way he’d be able to break it was if he killed her. The curse itself made it impossible that he’d ever want to, though. Already, his cock was throbbing at the thought of her. How was he ever going to manage? The thought of telling someone that this had happened _killed_ him, but it might be the only way he could see her dead.

That, or it was exactly what she wanted him to do. She’d already said she wanted to collect a few Witchers, keep them locked up in this cave as her personal toys. Maybe that’s exactly what Lambert was going to let happen. Even if he promised himself he wouldn’t, he had only slight control over himself. Whatever she wanted, he would do. That included getting dressed, leaving, and forgetting entirely.

But he’d be back. The moment he was gone, he felt a strange ache inside of him that he wasn’t sure how to fill. Without being sure what caused it, Lambert simply walked away from the cave as if nothing had happened, though he found himself humming a tune all too familiar.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt meets a doppler who is wearing his face. A little too taken with himself, Geralt falls right into bed with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geralt clocks in as the weakest monster fucker in the group. is fucked by and fucks a doppler who looks like him. completely consensual

When Geralt heard of someone impersonating a Witcher, he expected that he might find someone running around with a badly forged medallion and two steel swords. He went through the routine of looking for clues, finding tracks, and hunting down this famed impersonator. Of course, none of the villagers knew it was an impersonator, only that they had paid for a monster to be dealt with and it had never been. This was why villages shouldn’t pay up front, and this was why real Witchers didn’t take money up front.

At the end of the trail, where Geralt was expecting to find some poor sad sap, he found himself. Geralt stood there, eyes wide and stared right back into his own eyes. This was not just some poor villager trying to scam money. It was slightly more _dangerous_ than that: a doppler trying to scam money. Not all dopplers were cruel. Some of them weren’t even mean. Geralt didn’t reach immediately for his silver sword, though he did fold his arms.

“This is new,” he said. “Not many out there willing to impersonate a real Witcher.”

The doppler snorted, smirking Geralt’s own smirk. “Hoping to find someone less striking, I bet.”

Geralt swallowed. Not the person he was expecting to see, and not the response he was expecting to get. The doppler walked right up to him without a single care in the world for decorum, appropriateness, and neither for the fact that Geralt was armed to his teeth.

“Wouldn’t _believe_ the amount of people looking to fuck a Witcher,” the doppler continued. “Especially the great White Wolf. Who else would I dare to look like?” The doppler then dared to run his hand along Geralt’s jaw, and something about it had Geralt enraptured. He didn’t try to pull away.

“Think about this now. Never a better time to try. The whole world wants to fuck Geralt of Rivia.” The doppler raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Does Geralt of Rivia?”

The doppler could see right through him. Geralt didn’t have the time to speak before the doppler was cupping Geralt’s face. It was like staring in a mirror, except his reflection moved independently and closed the space between them. Geralt felt his own lips press against him, and the moan from his throat was involuntary. He didn’t _want_ it to feel as good as it did, but it did. Geralt didn’t have any issue shrugging his swords off his back and putting his hands on the doppler’s hips.

They were in a beat-up old cabin somewhere in the woods. That’s where the tracks had led, and the tracks led Geralt into his own arms, somehow. The doppler dropped his hands from Geralt’s face to his neck, and then promptly began to tug at the ties and buckles and straps of his armor. One by one, the pieces fell off as the doppler ushered Geralt into the next room of the cabin. There was a bed there, and the moment Geralt was just left in pants, shirt, and boots, the doppler pushed him down onto the bed.

This certainly wasn’t how Geralt saw his day going, but he didn’t do anything to stop it, either. He let the doppler rip off his boots, and then even watched as the doppler began to remove his own clothes. He was wearing significantly less, already, not having any armor to bear. He worked himself down to his smalls before climbing on the bed, and then his focus was right back on Geralt. It was a scramble right after to get Geralt out of his clothes, and Geralt even helped.

Something about this was exciting. When the doppler pushed him onto his stomach, Geralt rolled. He worked his knees up under himself to push back against the doppler, and the doppler moaned in response. Geralt had never seen all of himself, but with that doppler there, there was nothing off limits. He knew exactly what the doppler was looking at. The sudden, sharp arousal was expected. Geralt’s own cock started to stir as the doppler rested hands against his ass.

The doppler spread Geralt opening, trailing his thumb down Geralt’s cleft and shuddering at the sight of him. He had to pull back all at once, scrambling off the bed to find some vial of something that would work. It smelled like cooking oil, when he uncorked it, but Geralt had used worse. The doppler was back against him in a minute, suddenly bare and pressing into his ass. Geralt could feel his cock—the _same_ cock. In response, he couldn’t help but shudder.

“Give you the real experience,” the doppler said. “Wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.”

“Fuck,” Geralt gasped.

“You must get up to this. Look at you.” The doppler smoothed his thumb over Geralt’s hole, already red and puffy from what must have been a clear bath. “We’re not here to talk about your _partners_ though, are we? Just you.”

Geralt pressed his face down into the pillows and groaned. The doppler rubbed over his hole, spreading enough oil that it dripped down over his taint and towards his balls. The doppler was practically massaging him and just that, until finally, he pressed one slick finger into Geralt. Pleasure came immediately and immensely. Geralt’s hips rocked back, impaling himself further on the doppler’s finger. Even the doppler moaned, just at the sight of him.

Without warning, the doppler worked a second finger into Geralt. He took it, groaning beautifully against the pillows as the doppler started to work him open. It was so wet, and the doppler had long, thick fingers just like Geralt did. They worked into him, spreading his hole and stretching. Geralt’s hips bucked back against the touch, working the fingers into him deeper. The doppler could reach so deeply into him, fingers spreading across his walls and just working him on a simple massage.

Practically drooling against the pillows, Geralt was ready for the third finger when it came. His hole dripped with oil, wet sounds between them as the doppler began to fuck him with those fingers. Even the doppler was moaning, one hand around his cock and the other working quickly to ensure Geralt was stretched. He wasn’t going to be able to wait much longer. He wanted this. Had maybe been dreaming about it since he saw his reflection in the mirror.

The doppler pulled his fingers back and grabbed for more oil, drizzling it over his hand to coat his cock with. Once he was wet enough, he pressed the head of his cock right against Geralt’s hole and _pressed._ Immediately, Geralt’s jaw dropped open in a senseless moan. The feeling of being taken, forced open at the weight of his own cock, was enough to leave him breathless. He was so thick, heavy—and the doppler just kept pressing into him.

Geralt’s hips stuttered back, working himself against the doppler. It didn’t take another moment before they were flush together, both groaning as the pleasure overtook. The doppler started slow, grinding Geralt on the shape of his own cock, before he finally pulled back and snapped his hips forward. Geralt pressed himself harder into the bed, groaning each time the doppler fucked through him. The way he opened for the size of his own cock—his _own_ cock. Geralt groaned, practically choked on it.

When the doppler leaned over him, Geralt felt the brush of that long, white hair. His own hair. His own lips against his back as the doppler started to kiss him, nip down over his scars and his spine. They rocked together, both of them moving in time to work as deep, as hard as possible. The room was filled with the sound of their groaning, their skin slapping together. It was obscene, and nothing Geralt could do would remove the fact that he had bent over for _himself_ , someone who had stolen his identity.

The thought made him shudder, clench down around the doppler’s cock inside of him. The doppler’s own moan stuttered out, his hips slapped forward, and he took a sudden hard grip on Geralt’s hips to keep himself grounded.

“This what it’s like to be fucked on your cock?” The doppler groaned out, voice half-broken already. “Fuck. _Fuck_ , think I want a turn.”

“Yeah?” Geralt was delirious. High on the pleasure from this. “Whatever you want.”

The doppler cried, fucking his hips forward harder. One hand let go; the other gripped into Geralt’s hip harder. He reached for the oil to pour it over his hand. Too much, too wet, but the doppler didn’t care. He reached behind himself and spread oil over his cleft, then immediately pressed two fingers inside of himself. When he rocked his hips forward, the doppler reveled in the heat of Geralt’s passage spasming around him, and when he pulled back, he fucked himself on his own fingers.

Pleasure came from every angle, everywhere, and had them both groaning. Geralt shifted himself, leaning onto one shoulder, so he could work a hand between his thighs and grab his cock. He was achingly hard, and just from this alone. The doppler didn’t stop him from touching himself, either. If anything, that just made it better. Each pass of Geralt’s hand over the head of his cock, he tightened up and moaned. The doppler moaned in response, working that third finger into himself finally.

As the doppler stretched himself, he continued to fuck into Geralt with whatever focus and strength he could muster. Geralt grunted breathlessly each time their hips slapped together, and the doppler moaned. Geralt was so wet, so warm around him. His own orgasm was beginning to mount, and he fucked harder as it spilled over him.

It was the feeling of that spend inside of him that had Geralt coming, too. One orgasm right after the next until they were both panting, tired. Only then did the doppler pull his fingers from himself, then his cock from Geralt. He didn’t waste a single second.

Before he’d even started to go soft, the doppler flipped Geralt onto his back and straddled right over his hips. The doppler spread his cheeks with one hand and used the other to grab Geralt’s cock. He wouldn’t _let_ Geralt go soft. He just worked himself right down over Geralt’s cock and groaned as the thickness filled him.

“Fuck,” the doppler cried out. “Oh— _fuck_ , no wonder you came so fast. Fuck, fuck—you’re so big. Fucking—” The doppler rocked his hips back, groaning as Geralt’s cock fucked into him.

It was overwhelming, at first, and the doppler couldn’t formulate words. He just fucked himself down, feeling the weight of Geralt’s cock. Geralt nearly had the breath knocked out of him for how fast that went, from the sensitivity of his orgasm to being immediately encased by a tight, wet heat. Geralt moved his hands down, grabbing the doppler’s hips—his own hips. Like this, Geralt couldn’t avoid looking. He was looking at himself, red faced and moaning as they rocked together.

The doppler leaned over Geralt, bracing himself on Geralt’s broad chest and fucking himself back. They ground together, but the moment Geralt had a good brace on the bed, they really started to move. So taken by the look on his own face, Geralt couldn’t help it. He bent his knees up, put his heels into the mattress, and used his hold on the doppler’s hips to really start to fuck him. He had the doppler bouncing on his cock, and each time the doppler sat back, he cried out something low and gorgeous from his throat.

“That what I sound like?” Geralt groaned.

The doppler nodded. “Hot. Fucking— _gorgeous_ ,” he groaned. “Feel so good inside of me.”

Geralt snapped his hips up, sending the doppler forward on top of him. The Doppler ground back against his cock, groaning each time their hips slapped together. Having just come, they were both sensitive. Even the subtlest of movements had them both groaning, rutting against each other like desperate, feral animals. The doppler pushed himself up just enough that he could smash their lips together, and Geralt groaned into their kiss. He was kissing himself, burying his cock into himself.

Just the thought of it was enough to have Geralt nearly tipping right back over the edge. The doppler was tight around him, squeezing around his cock and groaning as the pleasure overtook him. Neither one of them were going to last long, not when they were locked together like this. Their kiss was messy, the oil between them leaving a mess, making everything slick and _good_. It didn’t take more than a few thrusts later for them both to be coming apart.

As their orgasms rushed through, they continued to rock together near violently, each trying to milk out that last moment of pleasure. It was too extreme to breathe through, but as they came down, they went limp: Geralt against the bed and the doppler on top of him. They stayed like that for a long, long time, until the doppler finally had the strength to pull himself from Geralt’s cock.

“Guess it’s time I moved on,” the doppler said. “Deal’s a deal. Consider me dealt with.” Then, he laughed. “Find a new face, maybe.”

Geralt sucked down a breath and nodded. “See you around, though,” he said. “Know someone else who might be into the double-take.”

The doppler snorted. “Don’t fall in love with me just yet, Witcher.” He leaned down over the side of the bed and planted one last kiss on Geralt’s lips. “Might take you up on that offer, though. Just might.”

Once the doppler left, Geralt took his time getting ready to leave. This was a moment of rest that he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will be the last of the kinktober stuff that i post to ao3 for now! check out my tumblr links below if you wanna know how to find more. thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Update Tumblr](https://oneofwebs.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Personal Tumblr!](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
>  [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tantumunawrites)   
> 


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